Pent in those fatal walls the wounded lie; None, none may succour, and they cannot fly! Oh, who can tell the horrors of that hour, 351 When Death seem'd dallying with his savage power? When the poor victim must perforce await, Not with high ardour meet and dare his fate. Hark, to that rattling, grating, shiv'ring crash! Down the roof rushes-down the rafters dash. A moment's darkness-then the flame again Starts, like a strengthen'd giant, from the plain: Around-within-above-o'er tower and wall Shakes its red tresses, spreads its lurid pall; Then unrelenting pours its blasting breath Fierce on its human prey--and all is death! Not such thy fate, young hero of the band, Who those proud walls unconquerably mann'd, Brave Craufurd, dauntlessly thy valour's glow. Led the bold sally full upon the foe. Alas, too well was aim'd the fatal ball! And, oh, what promise perish'd in thy fall! Thomas, son of Sir James Craufurd, Lieutenant in the third Guards. The command of the detachment at Hougoumont had devolved upon him, in consequence of two superior officers being killed. If it be objected, that I have singled out one, where all were brave, let private feeling plead my excuse.
